Pieces
by AdoAnnieCarnes
Summary: On the pieces of Ilse. Because she most certainly is not whole. "Wonder, do you know that she bleeds because she is a survivor? Survivor of the hell you hand your children here - thrust them into the wanting of the spring and thank your god it ruined them before they ruined you."
1. Shackled

**A/N: This one's about how society will lie and gossip about her and shun her from their society, while all the while refusing to admit that her whole miserable life is their fault. It starts in 1st person from Ilse's POV, and when it switches to 2nd person, the "you" is society, or the adults in SA. Enjoy! =D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Spring Awakening. All that belongs to Sater and Sheik and Wedekind and its other loverly creators.**

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><p>Build me up<p>

Break me down

Lie

Whisper

Let me live as exactly what you would never ask for

Poke my bruises

Twist your fingernails, your knives and

your pains through my wounds

and watch the blood there puddle

Like a river

As if mine was ever so different from yours.

Do you remember that little girl

the one with the hair like a wildfire, the

One who danced on the street

Barefoot

romantic

free

Do you remember her skin

the purple under her eye

the skin with the blood crusted around the edges of those cuts that you denied

You watched the man rage

You heard him scream and hit

And you waited for someone else to help her

While your own lips remained stitched shut even though the words

scratched at the hollow walls of your head and branded themselves there

unspoken

because,

darling,

That's how your paper-white

hard

sharp

unforgiving society works.

She walks your roads

Kisses your misfit with absinthe on her breath

Paint dried and caked on her breast, and

you whisper the lies to your children about

Ilse –

and as the months pass

you watch the children

die.

The misfit failed.

The girl loved.

The boy left,

and you sit

and you wait for the next time her hair sparks like candle flame over this place

to come and find their ashes under her tracks

Crying

Sinking

Flickering

a person truly damaged, but never lucky enough to drown

singing with fissures along her throat

dancing with blisters on her heels

Posing

Smiling

Stolen, even

Taken and robbed inside

by father and artist and

Lost every single time.

The veins around her heart pulse

thump thump

out, in

Wonder, do you know that her heart beats, heart pumps

a life out someone else's lacerations to bleed someone else's pain

because she is

a survivor?

Survivor of the hell you hand your children here

The heat,

thunder raging

rain bleeding through the fractures of a discolored sky yearning for summer

Shredding the petals of flowers barely blooming

Thrust them into the wanting of the spring and thank your god the tempest ruined them before they ruined you

And yet she lives

her bone not yet beaten quite hard enough to murder her

You see

and watch

and peer through the raindrops at her prayer

Her song, her hunger

Her own fire that is still alive

Her life white and worthless like butterfly wing bleached blank by the inability to fly

You watch her cry

And though your gossip slips through tame, articulate lips and wraps the lies around your own tongue,

Still you shadow the eyes of your heart and always deny that you were the one

who broke her.

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><p><strong>Thanks so much for reading! And if you have any thoughts, please review! They really do brighten up my day. =D So... toodeloo!<strong>


	2. drunk in the snow

**These aren't necessarily in any order. Sorry if some of them touch on similar pieces of Ilse's tragedy. They don't have to go together. I'm on a Spring Awakening fix and I just gotta get these words out of me somehow. **

**Disclaimer: Here I sit, owning nothing but the Portuguese SA Cast Recording playing on my ipod. Credit for the inspiration goes to the Wedekind, the Steven Sater, the Duncan Sheik, and the Michael Mayer. And to Courtney Markowitz for creating Isle for me.**

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><p>You lie there, tracing the pale blue veins running thin and crooked down your arms<p>

like lifeline

like sadness

like the way your feet go numb in the snow without shoes as your mind glazes over

drunk from the absinthe

drunk with the way it felt to feel like you belonged

like drowning in the black, disregarding reality because you know that they left you here, went back to their paints and their fantasies and left you here to burn

death by the sting of snow searing flesh like belt buckle searing soul

maybe you'll die here

damp

numb

lost

like you hoped you'd die pressed between splintered wood floor and a man's sweaty fingers lingering on your skin

as if that should have been okay with the world, who pretended that a little girl's innocence stolen and soiled and thrown crumpled in a corner like filthy white sheets stained with sweat, or sex, or blood didn't

deserve acknowledgement

no more use for memory –

those are all the same anyway –

bound with the same chilled touches and tainted with the same too loud laughter,

the same ivory paint on Johann's brush that creates your image on canvas time after time,

pure and soft like a lie

it'll cover up the bruises like they never existed

like he didn't brand them on your body like sin last night

like you really are so perfect as you are trapped in ivory on canvas under his brush,

when really you're all torn up everywhere.

Their absinthe and ivory can't fix you.

Maybe he could've fixed you – the boy with the socks that made you smile and the gun that they found underneath the blood and the dirt and the rocks –

but he's sleeping in their churchyard.

You can't fix you. You'll only continue to grow broken, like the mockingbird with a bullet caught halfway up its throat who you watch breathing from your window.

You two just breathe in silence.

You swipe tears off your cheeks before they freeze

you'll paint yourself in ivory, and maybe

when you wake you can pretend those never existed either.

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><p><strong>I'd appreciate your thoughts. Feliz Navidad!<strong>


	3. sanctuary

**Life, in hindsight perhaps, through Ilse's eyes. No sleep in heaven, or Bethlehem.**

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><p>And it shouldn't matter<p>

because

this life is never what you asked for

And no matter what, these wounds are never worth it.

So why break only one bone

an arm, a rib, a heart,

Why only one when you can break your whole body?

So at least you lived as much pleasure as you did pain.

And maybe

Far in the future

When weeds chain your ankles so you can no longer walk,

When the earth breaks your knees so you can no longer stand,

And more roses have slashed your skin than graced you

their petals only poisoned the wounds never closed,

And your body harder broken than you ever were by

his fist

or their easels

or that pistol

the father who forced himself inside a body too small

or the boy whose soul was too constricted by all of them

unreachable

Maybe then, finally you may explore the more lovely summers of heaven

A haven

And that pleasure will feel richer

For once, innocent

And something quite close to bliss

In comparison.


End file.
